


Respite

by inalasahl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Community: spn_reversebang, Cuddle Pollen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-16
Updated: 2014-02-16
Packaged: 2018-01-11 14:17:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1174075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inalasahl/pseuds/inalasahl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean gets exposed to cuddle pollen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Respite

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2013 [SPN Reversebang](http://www.livejournal.com/community/spn_reversebang) challenge. Based on art by [gracet3.](http://www.livejournal.com/users/gracet3)
> 
> I haven't watched the most recent episodes of season 9 yet. I've only heard about them and read the summaries on Wikipedia. This is vaguely set after "The Purge." If there are any canon irregularities, I apologize.
> 
> Thanks to bibs for the beta.

In the end they'll win, the way they always do, with a cost too high and all hope gone, tired and broken and old beyond their years. But the angels will be gone, except for Cas, tucked back in Heaven where they belong, and for now, at least Sam is the lone occupant of his own body.

Sam still has not forgiven Dean.

That's okay. Dean hasn't yet forgiven Sam.

* * *

On a whim, Dean stops at the Goodwill and buys a few posters for his bedroom at the bunker, models in swimsuits and other things he used to wish for as a teenager. You couldn't hang posters in hotel rooms. He would have one more thing to hang on his bedroom wall at the Men of Letters bunker, at home. He buys a couple of flannel shirts for Sam to replace ones that have worn away in the last few months. Sam says "thank you," and returns to the translation he and Cas have been working on.

Dean should care more than he does that they aren't talking, but Sam is alive. They are worse things than quiet, Dean knows. There's plenty of time for Sam to start talking again.

He looks at the newspaper and thinks about catching up on a movie. Thinks about offering to get a start on that cataloging Sam was always going on about. It might be fun to do a little exploring. It might even be a little dangerous. Dean isn't adverse to the idea of encountering another hot chick like Dorothy Gayle, especially if this time there's no witch to worry about. He looks over at Sam and Cas, heads bent together, murmuring in Enochian, and the offer dies in his throat.

They're shuffling through Kevin's notes, written in his frantic sloppy scrawl. Dean doesn't need to be part of their whole nerdy research thing anyway. Not when Kevin's handwriting, which is probably actual words or symbols, looks like a whole lot of nonsense to Dean, deteriorating handwriting one of the less troublesome signs of Kevin's transition from fresh-faced teen to hopped up prophet, more than because Dean's reading skills were rusty. Dean might not be able to speak and translate as well as the rest of them, but there was no one better than Dean at seeing symbols and recognizing them. John had taught him early to notice and remember the difference between a line that crooked clockwise and one that spiraled widdershins, how to remember when something ended in a whorl or a hook, and all the necessary knowledge in-between. Dean had cut his teeth on remembering such things; Kevin's handwriting was just that sloppy. It was kind of cute. It used to be anyway. Now it's just a reminder, and Dean's got more than enough of those already.

At least they're all together for now, Dean thinks, all safe. Though he knows, always, someday there will be a job, and Sam will be gone down the road, following some as yet unknown threat. Maybe Cas will go with him. The two of them get along like a house on fire these days.

Dean's not so stupid to think it should matter that Cas was his friend first.

His dad didn't have many friends left either by the end.

* * *

Lunch was muted. Castiel didn't know what had passed between Sam and Dean, but something had. Dean was forcefully jocular, pretending all was well, until Sam had quietly said that he'd taken a call while Dean was out about a hunt and he meant to go on his own. "I suppose you want the Impala," Dean muttered, slamming up from the table.

"You can get one of those jalopies in the garage fixed up if you need a car," Sam said. "It's only a few days."

Dean didn't answer, but he left the keys behind as he stomped out.

Castiel watched him go, hearing the distant clank of a six-pack being taken from the refrigerator. "Why are you doing this?" Castiel asked.

Sam rubbed at his face. "Because he'd burn the world down to save me," Sam said. "Unless I convince him I'm not worth saving."

Not for the first time, Castiel thought it was a shame that humans couldn't see what angels could. "There is nothing, _nothing,_ you or anyone else could do to convince him of that," Castiel said. "All you're doing is hurting him."

Sam put the keys in his pocket and pulled on a jacket. "That's all I ever do anyway." Sam snorted. "He doesn't think he did anything wrong, Cas. How am I supposed to ignore that?"

"You shouldn't leave him alone like this."

"You're here, aren't you?" And Sam walked out of the room and out of the bunker.

* * *

Dean spent the night drinking and peeled himself out of bed late the next morning, stumbling into the kitchen in last night's clothes. Castiel watched as he began scrubbing at a frying pan, which was more than clean by the time Castiel reached over and shut off the water. Castiel took the pan out of his hand and cracked two eggs into it. They weren't farm fresh, but Dean didn't notice the details Castiel had come to appreciate his last few years on Earth. "He'll come around," Castiel said.

Dean groaned and pointedly snatched the spatula away.

"He forgave me and I'm not — "

"Shut up, Cas." Dean dumped the eggs on a plate and began eating them as he walked. "You ever given a Pierce Arrow a tune-up, Cas?"

Castiel eyed the translation pile he and Sam had left heaped at the end of the table with a sigh. "No, Dean."

"Come on then."

* * *

There was a Studebaker in the garage, and a Corvette, and a lot of other classics that made Dean's hands shake and his mouth water. There was a shelving unit along one wall with a fortune in spare parts, still in the original boxes, and Dean felt like he'd stumbled on an entirely new definition of fully stocked.

Maybe Dean would need to look under the hood or turn the thing on and listen to its engine to fully mark down a catalog entry. Not that Dean would ever give up his baby, but the least he could do would be to check the cars out and make sure they were safe for Sam. Or even Cas, yeah, it would make sense for Dean to take a few of the cars out and see how they handle even. It was long since past time that Cas learned to drive, and not the kind of poky old lady driving that Cas probably would do, but real driving. Hunter driving.

The first car Dean slid into was beautiful, if dusty inside, and Dean spared a moment to be glad Sam had taken the Impala so his baby wouldn't see the way Dean's fingers trailed over the dashboard in awe. The dust had a curious pinkish tint and the car seemed to have been hastily abandoned, Dean thought. The Men of Letters seemed to be a pretty stuffy bunch who always put their toys away carefully when they were done, but this car had papers with Enochian writing strewn all over the front seat. He gathered them up and handed them over to Cas through the window. Sam was always complaining about how all of his reference sources were old and didn't do much to show the progression of the language over the millennia. Although, with Cas around, he who had lived for millennia, and still spoke both Enochian and English, Dean didn't quite understand how much changes there could have been, but maybe the papers would be useful.

"Now the first thing we're going to want to do is replace the fuel filter," Dean said, fumbling for the hood release. His fingers felt for the catch and pulled, but instead of the hood popping open, a great cloud of pure pink burst out of the vents. Dean coughed and spluttered and closed his eyes against the onslaught, as bad as any dust storm whipped up over a desert grave. He couldn't help but breathe in some of the dust. Distantly, he felt Castiel pulling him out of the car where they fell to the floor, calling his name and concentrated on trying to regain his breath. When he came back to himself, the pink cloud had settled, covering Dean in a fine ash, but otherwise leaving him unharmed. "Dean? Dean?" Dean blinked and patted Castiel's face to show he was all right. Cas's skin was soft and Dean found himself stroking the side of his face, his fingers trailing back into Cas's hair. "Dean? What are you doing?"

Dean yanked his hand back, surprised. It wasn't the first time he'd had an urge to touch Castiel like that, but it had never occurred to him before to actually do it. "Nothing," he murmured. "Sorry." He stood up. He extended a hand to help Castiel up. Castiel gave him an odd look before excepting the hand, though it was clear he didn't need it.

"Are you sure you are well?"

Dean brushed at the dust on his clothing and shrugged. "Can't say you were working on a car if you don't get a little dirty," he said. "Now about that fuel filter ..."

But Castiel was looking at the papers Dean had handed him earlier. "I believe you should wash yourself and change your clothing," Castiel said.

Dean rubbed his jaw. "You better not be about to tell me that even cars hate me now," Cas."

"No, I think, no, let me read this."

Dean sighed and went to take a shower.

* * *

When Dean finished, he came up behind Castiel in the common room and began rubbing his shoulders. "Bad news?"

Castiel knew he should put a stop to it, knowing Dean would never do it in his right mind. But if Castiel correctly understood what had happened, it would only upset Dean, perhaps cause him to escalate. And if it felt … pleasant, Castiel could be forgiven for enjoying. It certainly wasn't the worst betrayal of Dean's trust he'd ever indulged in, he thought darkly. "I called Sam," Castiel said. "He'll head back as soon as he can. In case ..."

"What?" Dean pulled Castiel around a bit to face him, though his hands continued making comforting circles on his shoulders. "Am I dying or something?"

Castiel lifted his hand and traced a symbol on Dean's chest, over his heart, "Zodee zodo pah," he began. A bright light shot out arcing into Dean's heart, but Castiel kept chanting. When he was finished, Dean was holding Castiel's hand to his chest, stroking his fingers and smiling a little. Castiel pulled away, as gently as he could. "In case that didn't work and we had to wait for it to wear off." He stood and put a little distance between the two of them. "It's pollen," he said. "From the fields of the cupids in Heaven. They use it to coat their arrows."

"So, what? I stay in the bunker, so I don't pick up some chick at a bar and eat her?"

"It doesn't work that way. The arrow forms the intention. The pollen itself doesn't do anything itself without an angel. Except …"

"Except there was an angel."

"Yes."

"So, we're good. It's not like you're going to put the whammy on me."

"My grace may have had an affect regardless. When the cloud swamped you, I was concerned for you, and I may have inadvertently …" Castiel let his voice trail off. He had tried, repeatedly, to make a life for himself without Dean. But it never seemed to work out, and he simply couldn't tell Dean that the feelings he had for him may have influenced the pollen. At best, Dean would be uncomfortable. At worst, Dean might distance himself, and Castiel knew that right now, while the angel war was still consuming the Earth, that Dean needed him more than ever to help fix things. Castiel swallowed and started over. "Dean, when you walked in you gave me a back rub."

"You looked tense! I was —"

"Doing something you would never normally do." Cas shook his head. "I am soldier. Love is not the bailiwick of my class. It's uncertain what effect the pollen may have on you. We could consult —"

"I'm fine," Dean growled. "No other angels."

Castiel subsided. Sam would be able to keep Dean distracted once he arrived. "As long as you don't try to completely suppress it, it shouldn't get any worse immediately without an object of affection."

Dean laughed and slung an arm over Castiel's shoulder, drawing him in to a sharp side hug. "Good thing you're not a busty Asian chick then," he said, and Castiel bit his tongue to avoid pointing out the obvious and shrugged out of Dean's half-embrace.

"I will keep an eye on you tonight."

"I feel fine," Dean said. "But, hey, sleepover! Never had one of those before." He waggled his eyebrows. "Not in my own house, anyway." He punched Castiel lightly in the arm. Castiel returned the gesture with befuddlement. Dean rubbed his hands together. "In the meantime, I'll get lunch together while you clean up the garage. We can eat, and then — fuel filter."

"The cars can wait," Castiel said. "I would prefer to continue reading through these papers to see if there is a cure. The Men of Letters had to have had some reason to store the pollen."

* * *

When Dean was done in the kitchen, he brought out a huge plate of nachos and set it on the table next to Castiel. He pulled a chair over, sitting as close to Castiel as possible while being in his own chair and leaned over, resting his head on Castiel's shoulder. "Find anything?"

"Not yet," Castiel said. Cas went back to his reading, ignoring him. Dean worked his way through the nachos, trying to find a comfortable position, shifting and sighing against Cas's side. A half-hour passed before Cas spoke again. "Is something the matter?"

Dean frowned. "Can't get comfortable," he said. "Don't know what — It's not like Sam and I haven't slept rough before. Not that this place could be called that with the temperature regulation and how freaking clean it is, but —"

"You're trying to sleep?"

"Thought I'd take a nap." Cas wasn't human, wasn't subject to aches and pains, but Dean was and it didn't seem fair that Cas was being so stiff and bony, when he could be making himself more comfortable for Dean to lay on. "This is silly," Dean said. "Move over to the couch."

It was Castiel's turn to frown, as he looked over at Dean. "There's no table over there, and I'm not sure —"

"Don't be ridiculous," Dean said. "Sam and I used to do this all the time when we were kids in the backseat." He stood up and retrieved a blanket from his bedroom. "Come on," he said, motioning to the couch. Wordlessly, Castiel got up and gathered his papers. He sat down gingerly on one end of the couch, like he thought it might bite him. Dean lay his head down in Cas's lap.

"Is that better?" Castiel asked uncertainly.

Dean took the closest one of Castiel's hands and placed it on his own shoulder. That felt better, he thought, as he pulled the blanket up. "Perfect," Dean yawned.

There was a pause, and Castiel began stroking his arm. Dean closed his eyes, and drifted off to the sleep to the slight rustle of paper, as Castiel continued reading through the pages.

* * *

In the end, it was a simple thing. Ablutions to remove the pollen from Dean's body, already accomplished by his shower, and the ash of an angel's moulting to counteract any effects that had already taken hold. He would pluck out some of his feathers when Dean awoke, but there was no sense in disturbing him now. Castiel's body made him aware of an indignity he had not thought to suffer once he regained his grace, but he did not mind it, and if this was his only opportunity to be aroused with Dean curled around him, then he would not waste it by ending it too soon.

Dean slept deeply, wholly, the sleep of a man who had not had safe undisturbed rest for years, and by the time he awoke, it was nearing morning.

Cas watched over him all night long.

By the time Dean's soft snores gave way to wakefulness, Dean had shifted many times in his sleep, drawing his body closer to Castiel until he was almost sitting at his side, one arm tossed over Castiel's legs, nearly an embrace. He came awake all at once with the startled jerk of hunter's instinct as a door opened in the distance. Sam had arrived.

Dean gave Castiel a goofy grin. "Good morning," he replied, in a voice that was almost chipper.

Dean cuffed his arm. "Sleep well?"

Dean would not appreciate hearing the truth, he thought. The old Dean, at least, as Castiel had no idea what this new Dean might believe. "I am well," he said instead. He had promised the Winchesters long ago that he was done lying to them, and internally, had promised himself that he would not slip. Humans lied, and often, but Castiel knew that he would need many more decades of practice before he could lie in the way humans did, with half-truths and polite fictions. Better to stick to the truth as rigidly as possible, rather than to risk falling into the kind of old bad habits that led to wars in Heaven. He had made many mistakes. Castiel did his best to disentangle the two of them, though he accomplished little more than Dean sitting beside him, still close-to with Castiel's arm around him. "Good morning," Castiel said, and wasn't even all that surprised when Dean leaned in and kissed him.

He heard the thud of Sam's duffel hitting the floor and pushed himself up off the couch as fast as he could. Sam had asked him to take care of Dean and instead he'd found him —. "I found a cure; I just need a moment to —" Castiel choked out and fled.

* * *

When Dean looked back at Sam, his brother was staring in shock down the hallway Castiel had practically run down. Then Sam turned to him and Dean didn't know what he was expecting, but it wasn't for Sam to abruptly tackle him on the couch and hug him as tightly as if one of them had just returned from the dead. Dean returned the hug cautiously. "Thought you were mad at me."

"I'm sorry; I didn't mean it," Sam said, muffled into his hair. "Just be okay."

"I'm fine," Dean said. "I don't know what Cas told you on the phone, but all that's happened is I got a little sleepy."

Sam drew back and gaped at him. "That's all? When I came in, you were, um, being really affectionate."

Dean didn't know what the big deal was, but before he could say anything, Castiel came back with a pot of ash. He didn't look at either of them when he said, "This should fix things."

He rubbed the ash on Dean's forehead and began chanting in Enochian again. Given that there was nothing wrong with him, he wondered how they were supposed to know whether it worked, after all, he'd like to get back to kissing Cas. Kissing … Cas? Dean felt a blush begin as the chanting stopped. He stepped back, putting distance between himself and Cas. "It worked." He couldn't possibly look at Cas. He scowled at his brother instead. "You better have filled up the gas tank before you got here."

Sam rolled his eyes as he handed the keys back to Dean. "Jerk," he said, and Dean couldn't help the relief he felt at the warmth behind the word. Just like that, their fight was over.

The three of them stood there for a minute. Then abruptly into the silence Cas said, "I apologize. I shouldn't have let you kiss me."

"Oh, my God," Dean snapped.

Sam made a sound that Dean chose to believe was a cough and not a giggle. "I'm going to, um, laundry," he said, scooping up his duffel and leaving the two of them alone.

* * *

Castiel squared his shoulders and began to walk back to the table. "I should return to researching undoing the lock on Heaven."

Dean sighed and rubbed at his face. "Let's just get the feelings stuff over with," he said. "So we don't have to deal with it again. I don't want the next few days with you to be like my last few days with Sam, all right?"

"All right," Castiel said, looking Dean in the eye for the first time since Sam had shown up.

"There was freaky angel pollen. I kissed you. You were uncomfortable. You did nothing wrong. It's over. I've managed to resist kissing you before; it won't happen again."

Castiel was sure that Dean couldn't have meant that the way it sounded. Castiel had seen the women Dean loved. Nothing like him, they were physical creatures, at home in their bodies, athletic and graceful. Not like Castiel who was still every day, discovering something new that discomfited him about the body he inhabited. But he couldn't help asking. "You've managed to resist …?"

"Gaaaah," Dean groaned. "I might still be a little muzzy. Never meant to tell you — look, I know how it has to be is all I'm saying." He turned toward the kitchen. "I need a drink."

"Wait," Castiel said. Once he would have crawled through broken glass and been pleased if Dean would only acknowledge it, but he had long since learned that his desire for accolades was rooted in selfishness and pride, both of which had got him in trouble in the past. But Dean had said too much for Castiel to just ignore. He tilted his head at Dean. "How does it have to be?"

Dean sighed and glared at Cas, as if he was being rude or prolonging torture. "It was easier when I could," Dean broke off, swallowed, tried again. "Touch you. The way I wanted to." He took a deep breath. "When I could."

Castiel froze, then came alive all at once, knowing that Dean didn't mean what he was saying. "I don't know what you mean."

Dean sighed. "Come on, man. I let you get away with the whole babe in the woods thing sometimes, but don't — not when I'm trying." Dean banged his fist on the wall. "Not when I'm trying to do something here."

Castiel inhaled and seized Dean's hand, healing the scrape of blood on his knuckles. "I'll get over it," Dean said again.

Castiel rubbed his stomach, wondering at the sudden malady that had come upon it. "All right," he said finally. He resisted the urge to kiss Dean's palm. "It is not who you are. It's fine, Dean."

"If it weren't, would you tell me?"

"If I thought you needed to hear it, of course I would."

"You haven't," Dean said.

Castiel felt his cheeks flame. Of course Dean knew. Of course he did. "Dean." He stopped, not knowing what to say. "I. I. We are friends, and I am glad," he said finally. "I am glad, after all that has happened, not to be alone. To have friends, if I can't have brothers and sisters. You don't need —"

"Cas," Dean said, voice leaden and weighed down. "You don't know a damn thing about what I need. Listen to what I'm saying."

"You can touch me," Castiel finally snapped back. "You're the only one stopping yourself."

Dean was silent for a moment, mulling it over. "Oh," he said precisely. "I hadn't—"

"You weren't meant to."

Dean leaned sidewise for a moment, letting their shoulders brush, and Castiel had no idea what that meant. He tilted his head again. "You shrank from every touch I gave you, and I know that means I should stop. I'm not one of those jerks who pushes himself on people, Cas. I'm not."

Castiel heard the underlying worry in Dean's voice. "You're not," he confirmed.

"I want," Castiel said. He sat down heavily on a chair. "I just don't know what you want."

"I don't want you to leave."

"I won't." Castiel squeezed his thigh. Dean's hands remained firmly on the wheel. "Trust me."

"You know I do."

"I know you do," Castiel replied gravely. "I know you have. Even when you shouldn't." He smiled. "I am not ungrateful. Things are fine the way they are."

"I don't want them to be fine," Dean said, the words ripped out of him. Castiel jerked in surprise.

"It was never because I didn't want it, Dean. Never." Castiel looked down at his lap. "It was because the wanting was too much. You don't want that," he said. You don't want me, he thought. "Angels are very long-lived, Dean, yet my brothers and sisters are gone. You and Sam are all I have left, and my feelings toward you are not brotherly. But I want to be safe, Dean. I am so very tired of losing brothers and sisters and homes."

"Me too, Cas. But if you're willing to try, I want to try. Is that, can that be enough?"

Castiel closed his eyes and reminded himself that Dean had showed more faith in him than anyone else ever in Castiel's long life, more faith than someone like Dean ought to have in anyone after all he'd been through, and much of it at the hands of angels. "We can try," he agreed.

Dean pulled up a chair alongside him at the table and reached over a hand.

When Sam came in, he did not let go.

Sam, cleared his throat as if nothing much at all is going on. "Cas, remind me. Does this word translate as spear or assegai in Enochian?"

Dean let out a breath and grasped Cas's hand more firmly, so that they were holding hands, there at the table, among the books, in full view.

"It's closer to javelin," Castiel corrected, and he slid his thumb along the back of Dean's hand.

Finis

**Author's Note:**

> Rated for kissing, brief angst.


End file.
